


Hummingbirds

by thechoicewasallmine



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: A boyfriend is not a substitute for professional help, Anxiety, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, M/M, Peter Parker Gets a Hug, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Soft Boyfriends Being Soft, brief mention of eating disorders, but warm hugs are nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 05:08:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16758538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechoicewasallmine/pseuds/thechoicewasallmine
Summary: Peter knows, logically, that his heart is fine, even if it is beating faster than his normal resting heart rate. But he can’t help the surge of fear that rushes through him when the speed of his pulse ticks up again. He hears it so clearly, the pounding of blood against his arteries, and not for the first time he curses his heightened senses.Or: 1700 words of soft boyfriends versus Peter's anxiety disorder





	Hummingbirds

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all this is my first fic ever so please be kind.  
> This fandom needs more Peter/Ned so, uh, here.   
> Peter and Ned are both mentally ill but that doesn't mean they are qualified to treat each other. Professional help is always going to be more effective against mental illness than the advice of a loved one. Therapy is cool as heck!

Some days, Peter feels less like a spider, and more like a hummingbird.

He doesn’t think of himself as particularly graceful, or beautiful, or agile, not compared to hummingbirds, anyway. But the fluttering movements of those delicate birds often mirrors the fluttering form that his anxiety takes on bad days.

Today is a bad day.

Peter is sitting on his favorite couch in the common room of the Avengers Tower, dressed in his most comfortable sweats. His long-forgotten mug of tea is on the coffee table in front of him, having been abandoned when Peter’s hands were shaking too much to hold it, and there is something playing on the TV across the room that he can’t focus on. Other than the tremors in his hands, he is perfectly still, but his mind flickers from one thought to the next, too fast for his brain to register before the next thought pops in. 

There are things he needs to be doing. Probably. But Peter can’t concentrate long enough to figure out what those things might be. He’s aware, in a vague sort of way, that his anxiety is currently out of control and that he needs to take measures to reign it in, but since he can’t remember how to do that right now, he just sits. And breathes.

The November sun shines bright through the bay windows to Peter’s left, and he closes his eyes, trying to imagine the rays are melting away the worry, settling his fluttery heart. 

He knows, logically, that his heart is fine, even if it is beating faster than his normal resting heart rate. But he can’t help the surge of fear that rushes through him when the speed of his pulse ticks up again. He hears it so clearly, the pounding of blood against his arteries, and not for the first time he curses his heightened senses.

Not one moment later, Peter recognizes a familiar set of footsteps entering the building and he takes back any negative sentiment about being able to hear all the way down to the lobby. The sound is enough to help his chest loosen slightly, just enough for him to realize it was tight to begin with, but he’ll take it.

The footsteps travel into the private elevator that accesses the living quarters and opens down the hall from where Peter is sitting. He manages to consider schooling his features into something a little less panicked but does not manage to actually do so before Ned rounds the corner and sees him.

Peter is still trying to remember which muscles control the movement of his head when his boyfriend calls, softly, “Peter? You with me?”

He manages to clear his throat and reply with a raspy, “Yes,” and that seems to have broken the spell slightly. Peter stands in time to pull Ned into a tight hug in greeting, bypassing their usual peck on the lips.

Ned’s hugs are one of Peter’s favorite things and they have been for years. He feels safe and warm in the shorter boy’s arms, even now when his pulse is racing and he can’t think straight.

“I forgot you were coming,” Peter whispers in his boyfriend’s neck. He tries to swallow the guilt he feels for not remembering that Ned was supposed to help him in the lab today.

He doesn’t forget things, as a general rule. He has a pretty good memory and when his mental illnesses are well controlled, he’s really good at staying on top of things. But sometimes, his anxiety will creep in without him realizing and crowd out the rest of his brain, leaving him rattled, tense, and forgetful.

Ned moves one of his hands from Peter’s back to the nape of his neck. His trembling has not gone unnoticed and although it’s not the first time that Peter has been this anxious around him, Ned wants to give him the chance to tell him what he needs before he does anything, lest he make things worse. 

“What’s going on, babe?” Ned asks after a few moments.

Peter shrugs in the embrace, feigning nonchalance even though it’s a wasted effort on the person who knows him better than he knows himself.

“Nothing, really. There’s no reason for me to be as anxious as I am right now. But, well… here we are.”

He punctuates his statement with a bitter laugh and finally pulls back from the hug. Ned doesn’t let him go far; he simply moves his hands down Peter’s sides until they’re resting, firm and warm, on his waist.

“Have you taken anything for it?” He asks openly, genuinely, without judgement. Peter loves him for it.

“No,” Peter shakes his head and lets out a harsh breath, trying and failing to keep the words from coming out in a panicky mess. “I don’t think I need to. I just—I need…fuck, I don’t know.” He runs a hand roughly through his hair. “This fucking sucks.”

“Ok, I got you, come ‘ere.”

Ned uses his grip on Peter’s waist to guide them both back onto the couch, tucking the smaller man into his side and putting an arm around his shoulders. His other hand stretches out towards Peter’s, waiting for him to close the gap. When he does, he brings Peter’s hand to his chest and starts guiding him through one of the breathing exercises that they’ve both memorized. It’s usually Peter who needs help breathing through his anxiety, but the roles have been reversed enough times for Ned to know which ones are effective and which ones just make you feel lightheaded. 

It’s not long before Peter’s heartrate begins to slow, the calculated breaths and the comforting presence of his boyfriend doing what he couldn’t on his own. He doesn’t let himself linger on the thought, it’s too easy to get caught up in the shame that he feels whenever he needs help.

He doesn’t think that asking for help is shameful, quite the opposite really. He is never prouder of Ned than when he’s able to reach out to Peter when he’s having a hard time and he never feels burdened by being there for his amazing boyfriend.

But Peter’s mental illnesses like to feed him lies that don’t apply to anyone else; lies such as never being allowed to ask for help and burdening everyone around him.

He’s getting better about not believing them, but old habits die hard.

“Are you cold?” Ned asks his boyfriend, when the latter’s shaking fails to slow with his breaths.

“No—I mean, I don’t think so?” Peter phrases it like a question.

“Have you eaten today?”

Peter flushes, ashamed, and shakes his head.

“I’m not upset with you, babe,” Ned reminds him, letting his fingers rub soothing circles on Peter’s shoulder.

“I know, I’m upset with myself,” Peter mumbles, picking at his nails nervously. “A little anxiety creeps in and I start restricting again.”

There’s a pause while Ned processes that information.

“How long has it been?” He asks hesitantly.

Peter swallows. “Um,” he clears his throat. “I’m not sure.”

Ned doesn’t respond and Peter starts to panic, trying to worm his way out of his boyfriend’s arms.

“See, you’re mad, of course you’re mad, you should be—”

“Babe,” Ned cuts him off, shifting until he’s sitting cross legged and they are facing each other. “I mean it, I’m not mad.” He squeezes Peter’s knee. “I just need you to be honest with me.”

“I am—”

“Peter.”

The smaller teen bites his lip and looks away.

After a few tense moments of silence, Ned realizes that Peter isn’t going to offer the information on his own. He sighs and reaches out to cup his boyfriend’s jaw, gently guiding his head until they are once again making eye contact.

His thumb strokes Peter’s jaw when he prompts, softly, “Remember what we agreed on?”

Peter’s hand comes up to cover Ned’s and he takes a deep breath.

“Open and honest communication. Above everything else.”

Ned nods, encouraging him to continue.

“We’re not going to work if we keep secrets from each other,” Peter recites, more confidently now, “And we both have to admit when we’re struggling.”

“Because we can’t fix what we don’t know about,” the boys say the last line together and give each other small smiles.

“I ate lunch yesterday,” Peter confesses, fighting down the urge to lie to avoid worrying him.

“Thank you for being honest.” Ned leans in to peck him on the lips.

Peter doesn’t let him pull away, instead he deepens the kiss, moving his hands to rest on Ned’s knees, squeezing them in a silent thank you. Ned hums in appreciation and continues to stroke Peter’s jaw, getting lost in the feeling of his boyfriend’s lips moving against his own. The moment stretches on and the two of them kiss, slowly and softly, until the shorter boy eventually pulls back with a sigh.

“We have to go eat, Peter.”

“I know.” He rubs his hands over his face with a sigh, and Ned sees that they’re still shaking.

Peter feels more grounded than he did earlier, and after kissing Ned, he can at least recognize an emotion other than anxiety, but he still feels off. Like everything around him is moving too slowly while everything inside is moving too fast.

“I’ll take care of the food,” Ned offers, standing up and offering a hand to help his boyfriend do the same. “If you’re feeling up to it, maybe you could give your therapist a call in the meantime.”

Peter is visibly relieved at the suggestion and lets Ned pull him to his feet.

Kissing Ned is amazing, but it’s not going to cure Peter’s anxiety. He just needed that push from his boyfriend to pick up the phone and try to explain to his therapist why he feels like crawling out of his skin and also why he doesn’t feel like he deserves to take his meds to deal with it.

“Thank you for reminding me that I have that option when I need it,” he pecks Ned on the cheek. “I love you.”

Ned smiles shyly the way he does every time Peter says those words.

“I love you too.”

***

**Author's Note:**

> Please lie to me in the comments if you hated it, my fragile heart can't take criticism on my first fic. Save it for the trash that's to follow.  
> But if you wanted to point out any errors in tense/POV I would be eternally grateful. Writing is hard.


End file.
